


The Littlest Utumno Tree

by EveningAlchemist



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Christmas, Dark Comedy, Ent Abuse, Holidays, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, M/M, One Shot, a bit fluffy somehow??, sorry tolkien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 20:49:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9021418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveningAlchemist/pseuds/EveningAlchemist
Summary: A classic tale told by bawdy orcs around the bonfire about Mairon’s visit to Utumno at the height of winter and the ensuing adventures.  Meant to be morbidly humorous, but I guess that depends on your opinion of Ents.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warning is to be on the safe side. I mean, there isn’t gore in the sense of blood and guts… more like sap and splinters if you get my drift. The perfect story for the holidays, eh? *crawls back into my festively decorated dark cave*

In a bluster of snow and a scream of grinding hinges, the gates to Utumno were opened. The sight would have sent any decent living beings fleeing into the endless tundra. Indeed there were no decent beings to be seen. It was the height of winter in the Far North and no sun had touched these cursed lands for over a month. The conditions were perfect for a Dark Lord and his troupe of dark minions to travel across the barren wastes unfettered. They were greeted with the highest of ceremony, and all the ghastly company of Melkor were standing at attention in their finest armor and on their best behavior. Only the most ill-tempered of Lords would have found cause to complain. As it was, Mairon, the Lord of Angband and Sorcerer of great power, was absolutely certain his ass was frozen to the sledge he rode upon.

Without any further formalities, and a bit of delicate maneuvering, he dismounted his sledge and strode with purpose past the rows of his strange hooved drakes that glowed a sinister red, and into the even greater darkness of the fortress. Not bothering to address any of the orc guards that had to stumble out of his way, Mairon made his way to the throne room. Although he did not spend much time here in Utumno, he knew the twisting halls well, as he had a part in their planning.

And more plans he had. Thousands more elven slaves had been captured and he wanted them making more of his favourite “toys” to share with all the children of Arda. Melkor would be oh-so-pleased. With a wave of his hand, the doors to the throne room were blown open by the force of his magic alone.

Upon entering, several quivering servants removed his ice encrusted coat and replaced it with a magnificent hooded red cloak. He made his way up the long hall and finally laid his crimson eyes on his Master.

On the imposing throne was the mightiest Vala in all of Arda, clad in luxurious black and gold. His dark splendor was something Mairon felt only he could fully appreciate. Melkor was sprawled in such a manner that if he had any more limbs, he could have been mistaken for a gigantic spider. His attention was upon a swirling glass of a steaming and blood red liquid.

Mairon was slightly irked by his Master’s informal greeting but bowed and said,  
“My Lord, the raid was most successful. We have more bodies captured than we can deal with and I would like to propose a plan of…”

“Mairon~” Melkor interrupted playfully.

Mairon’s mouth seemed to shrink into his face at the force of holding his tongue, but Melkor continued. 

“I haven’t summoned you here for council. I have summoned you for celebration!” Melkor’s deep voice boomed throughout the hall. He gestured to the guards decorated with spiky holly and the slaves rushing rare delicacies about, which Mairon had failed to notice with his eyes locked on Melkor. 

At the foot of the throne was a barely noticeable and rather expressionless elf holding a plate of spiced fungus. When the elf hesitantly offered him one, Mairon flipped the tray out of the elf’s hand and onto the floor, causing an overly excited dragon hatchling to drop from the ceiling and begin inhaling the treats. 

“Melkor! I did not answer to your summons to be toyed with!” Mairon shouted, hoping to shock his Master into listening. Melkor only looked down at the hatchling fondly, who was now sniffing at the ankles of the worried looking elf.

Mairon stepped up to the throne to look Melkor directly in his dark, delighted eyes.

“If you knew me at all, you would have offered to share the wine,” he tensely whispered, and made to reach for the glass.

Melkor cruelly lifted the hot wine out of Mairon’s reach.

 _“Ah ah ah…!”_ Melkor chided with a smile on his lips and a growing gleam in his eyes. “There is something I require first.”

Mairon immediately dropped to his knees and threw back his hood.

“Not that!” Melkor hissed, waving his arms in front of Mairon and spilling some of his wine. _“Not yet,”_ he added out of the corner of his mouth.

One of the orc guards snorted.

With a cursory glare at the offending orc, Mairon rose just as calmly as he had kneeled and smoothed his robes. 

Looking Melkor in the eye with a hint of incredulousness only the Dark Lord himself could recognize, Mairon asked, “Then what is it that you require, my Lord?” 

Melkor pushed himself off his throne and put his heavy arm around Mairon’s shoulder, finding it a little bit more stiff than he had anticipated. As he put down his wine glass, Mairon eyed it with hawkish precision. Yet Melkor was unaffected by his lieutenant’s growing irritation. 

“I must show you, Mairon. It is beyond words for me at this time,” he lamented dramatically.

He led Mairon down a hidden hall and up a spiral staircase to a cramped room dominated by a periscope. Melkor’s mass pushed him in front of the crude eyepiece, which was certainly not made by him, he noted with distaste. 

“Take a look. What do you see out of place?”

Mairon thought to point out that he was being forced to look through a contraption utterly useless for his all-seeing eyes, but he wanted to humor his Master, who with every sentence seemed to be getting more riled.

“Do you see it? Tell me it does not stick out like a pimple on the face of Manwë,” Melkor all but spat into Mairon’s ear.

Admittedly, Mairon’s eyes were having some difficulty adjusting to the un-needed assistance, but he did begin to see something odd. In full focus, he caught the outline of one very pathetic looking _tree._ A conifer it appeared to be by its shape, growing directly on the sharp and barren rock exposed from the ice. Melkor pressed more into his back, knocking Mairon’s forehead against the glass eye-piece.

“Do you see it? Tell me what it is, I dare you.”

Deadpan, Mairon answered, “It is a tree, my Lord.”

“A _tree._ By _Utumno.”_ Melkor emphasized, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his fist to his chest as if the very idea gave him heartburn. More than likely it was actually the wine.

Yet the challenge he offered Mairon was completely serious.

“And I want you to go a retrieve it for me, Mairon. Consider it your gift to me.” 

Mairon only nodded.

~~~~~~~~~ 

Mairon walked out of the hall like a force of nature. He didn’t even bat an eye as the orc guard who had laughed at him was now screaming like a pig while being dragged away by a gleeful Balrog who threw a wink in Mairon’s direction.

Once outside Mairon gave a long and piercing whistle that was part sorcery in nature. Even after his lips returned to their usual frown, the sound was carried and amplified into a howl by the whipping wind. 

Within a moment, now following beside him was his ever-obedient wolf, Latagund. Her tongue lolled slightly out of her mouth but other than that her grey fur was as prim as a painting. 

As he continued to walk towards the above-ground stables he was also joined by the dark wolf Hosh-Ghaash who was violently horking on a hunk of snow.

But one wolf was missing.

In a pit by the stables another wolf had dug so far into a pile of stinking waste that his head wasn’t even visible. His burrowing and happy _hurf-huff_ could be vividly heard from atop the pit.

“Pushdug.” Mairon called firmly. No answer. Only huffing.

“Pushdug~!” Mairon sang in a sing-song threat. Still no sign of acknowledgement.

 _“Shakh-Pushdug!”_ Mairon finally spat out. Only then did the wolf wrench his head out of the hideous slag pile and trot over. He never answered to anything but his full name. 

Mairon now only needed to gather the final member of his hunting party. In the stables he found his favourite steed.

Low-slung and scaled but radiating heat like the heart of a forge, the wingless dragon greeted him with clipped grunts and squeals. She was already equipped with riding gear and wiggling in anticipation.

With his full entourage, and full of determination to please his Master, Mairon set out. If it were any ordinary tree, Melkor would have never bothered to ask his lieutenant to take it down. That could only mean he was about to meet what he considered one of the stranger children of Arda.

~~~~~~~~~ 

Brooding upon the craggy rock at his poor life choices so far, Pinebrow grumbled to no one in particular.

He had been banished from the high forest for camping upon the mountain spring and hogging all the good water to himself, which resulted in an argument that went on for a couple of centuries and game of “king of the hill” that went on for another four. After wandering over mountain ranges while mumbling about the ungratefulness of his fellow Ents ( _I was protecting the spring obviously… and yes that does require all my roots be plugging the stream’s mouth,_ he replayed in his head) he had decided to plunk himself down and wait for them to realize their terrible mistake and come find him. 

For several days no one had. But no squirrels or rabbits or even birds had come to bother him either, so he was content resting his roots upon the rock. That was about to abruptly change.

Looking to horizon, he saw what could only be interpreted as an Entish nightmare. An unpleasant and scaly creature let loose a scream of triumph and a stream of liquid fire. The monstrosity was joined by three eager, slavering wolves and a mad rider clad in black and red that cried a battle song of split logs and raised a shining and sharpened axe high into the air. The axe glinted hungrily in the light of the terrible fire breath. 

Pinebrow let out a groan that rose to a high-pitched sigh which was the Entish equivalent of, 

_“Oh fuck me.”_

Smiling like a glowing volcanic fissure, Mairon lowered the axe to point to his target and with a spurn of his heel they gave feverish chase down the embankment.

Groaning more profanities, Pinebrow lifted his roots so quickly out of the ground that chunks of rock were sent flying. He tripped slightly over the loose stones but quickly recovered and set to sprinting at a pace never before achieved by any Ent in the history of Arda. 

But Mairon on his steed from the firepits was already gaining. Pinebrow was weak from his near-hibernation in the cold of the lands surrounding Utumno. What he would give for a small mountain stream to again call his own!

As luck would have it, the drake left hot trails of melted ice behind with each step. Pinebrow grinned and looped around towards the steaming puddles. When his roots touched the fresh water, he gained a speed boost and roared a mighty HROAR.

Like a cat done playing with its prey, Mairon growled and commanded his wolves forward. They followed the lead of Latagund as she used her surprising intellect to herd the Ent towards a dead end of shear stone. Pinebrow still grinned and had even dared to make faces at his pursuers, right up until he ran smack into the stone and toppled over with a great crash. 

Within moments the wolves were upon him. The smelly, cross-eyed wolf gnawed haphazardly on his arm while the others tugged on his branches and appeared disappointed by their very un-meaty hunt. Never-the-less they held him in place. Pinebrow heard the dismounting of the dark rider and his confident stride to his side.

Not even bothering to look up from his picking at his nails, Mairon pressed the impossibly sharp axe into Pinebrow’s first layer of bark. Despite his nonchalant posture, his voice cut sharper than even the weapon he wielded. 

“Why do you torment my Master so? How bold have the bastard children of Yavanna gotten that they send a single agent merely to taunt?”

Pinebrow blubbered an indiscernible plea that erupted into a squeal as the cold axe touched his cambium.

“Speak clearly and quickly, you fool, or your sap with run on the snow.”

Breaking another Ent speed record, this time for speech, Pinebrow said, “I’m just lost oh please I’m just lost here in this wasteland but if those hoity-toity Ents hadn’t driven me from the forest why I would…”

“Which forest?” Mairon interrupted.

“Why, the great forest of the North in Mist and Shadow. There are such nice squishy mosses I’m sure you enjo~ _ah!”_ Pinebrow exclaimed as the axe was violently wedged out of his trunk.

“Thank you,” said Mairon, suddenly contemplative.

Pinebrow attempted to crawl away. “You are very welcome good sir, but I must be going, you see I really would not like to miss the spring thaw and the blooming of the Ent-wives…”

“Oh? Well I completely understand.” Mairon extended his arm South to welcome the Ent to leave. “By all means, please.”

Pinebrow smiled nervously and began to stand to leave, but Mairon raised the axe behind his back. The swift and powerful swing cut cleanly through the base of Pinebrow’s trunk with a resounding _THUNK_ and severed his body from the roots he walked upon. 

Before Pinebrow could even register what was happening, two Balrogs leapt from behind boulders and lassoed him with their fiery whips, sending wisps of acrid smoke from his branches. The last thing he heard before passing out from shock was,

“To Utumno’s chambers. And heat some more of that spiced wine, I’m fucking freezing.”

~~~~~~~~~ 

Mairon strode into the throne hall and tossed off his snowy boots. The flying footwear struck an orc guard’s bored face with a satisfying _BOMF._

“Why did you take so long? Were you making snow-Maiar?” Melkor mocked.

Mairon sarcastically snickered at Melkor and threw his frost-covered cloak on Melkor’s throne. 

Placing his hands on Melkor’s knees, he cheekily answered, “Come to the far-chamber and find out.” 

Mairon tried again to snatch the steaming wine carafe before his master could react. Melkor, however, was too fast and too aware of his rare refreshments to allow for it, and raised it out of Mairon’s reach yet again. As Mairon moved closer to try and reach the wine, Melkor placed a light kiss on the tip of his nose, red from the cold. Surprised by the show of affection, Mairon fell into Melkor's lap. He looked up to search his dark, promising eyes. Melkor voice rumbled through Mairon. 

“I shall be there, _Precious.”_

~~~~~~~~~ 

Pinebrow was perhaps having the worst day of any Ent yet. He woke to find himself somewhere he was certain had never seen the light of the sun and that smelled heavily of _burning._ He squirmed to try and find a means to escape. He would even drink from foulest patch of brackish water available if it meant re-growing his roots. Unfortunately he could barely squirm under his new ornaments.

Baubles of lead dragged his branches down into sad arches. Heavily barbed wire as thick as a child’s fist wound around him on all sides and bound him to the ceiling. Orcs raised a heavy cone with the Melkorish star of punishment on its tip while chanting and jeering. To stop his squirming altogether, they placed it on his head to much jumping and clapping from the young orclings excited for the public propitiation. Much to Pinebrow’s disgust, they began to peel off their smelly, muddy stocking and hang them on his branches to dry.

Mairon sauntered into the room, now wearing a loose, plush robe of red velvet and white fur, and apparently nothing else. He paused to smile lovingly and pat the young orcs on the head. Behind him entered a massive troll carrying an armful of… _no._

Pinebrow wailed beneath his tinselly gag when he realized the troll held the chopped remains of his roots.

Mairon lovingly shooed the orcs out of the room and dismissed the troll once his morbid load was placed by an intimidatingly large hearth. He then turned his attention towards his guest and smiled with terrifying cheer.

“I’m so glad you could join our festivities! We couldn’t just let you stay out in the cold, now could we?” he began with hollow welcome. “I trust you brought us presents as well, as is tradition…”

Using his pointed nails, Mairon dug into the base of Pinebrow‘s needles and pinched one free. With a single word of power the needle disappeared in a flash of fire.

 _“Hmmm,_ perfect. You shouldn’t have.” Mairon purred, his eyes wide and glinting. 

Pinebrow did his best to writhe away from the Maia’s plucking fingers, but his ornaments kept him from moving his branches any more than a finger’s breadth. After what felt like an eternity of discomfort, a substantial bundle of needles was held in his host’s fist.

Mairon grabbed a few of the smaller logs and placed them in the large hearth, humming a demented and cheery tune the entire time. He then placed the needles neatly on top of them.

With a snap of his fingers, Mairon set the kindling ablaze. Soon Pinebrow could hear the sickening crackle of his feet catching fire. In an entirely aesthetic gesture, Mairon put out his hands to warm them over the fire.

Just when Pinebrow thought it couldn’t get any worse, a tall and most menacing figure he had only seen in dark dreams sauntered into the room. He carried a steaming jug of wine and was in a jolly mood. Not that it made Pinebrow feel any better.

 _“Ah,_ Mairon what a lovely ambiance you have created,” Melkor remarked.

“Master! So glad you could join us. We were just settling in from the cold.”

Mairon grabbed another log from the pile left by the troll and tossed it into the blaze. Pinebrow trembled as he heard it hiss and pop.

A wordless current of information passed between the Ainur, leading Melkor to grin at Pinebrow malevolently. Melkor squatted by the hearth and took an exaggerated breath. 

“So fragrant! Mairon, we will need many more of these pines for the coming winter.” 

“Most assuredly, my Lord. We already have the location of their source.”

Pinebrow gave a muffled moan around the stiff tinsel in his mouth.

“And where is that?”

“Hithlum, I believe”

“Hithlum?” Melkor spun around and pulled the spiky gag from Pinebrow’s mouth. “Do you think I should visit your home, Sap-worm?”

“N… n…. no, my Lord. T.. t… t.. oo dark and d..d. damp... you sss..should not... ”

Melkor grunted and let the gag snap back into place. “It sounds perfect.”

Now ignoring the Ent, he reached up into a shelf beside the heath and produced two large wine glasses. Mairon licked his lips as he received one of the glasses. However when Melkor raised the wine carafe he only poured his own glass. Mairon watched aghast as Melkor raised it to his own lips without bothering to fill his glass. 

Turning up the mock cheer Mairon addressed his master directly while letting his robe slip slightly off his muscled shoulder. “Oh, Melkor~”

Stupefied by the sight of Mairon in the firelight, Melkor paused before he could take his first sip, “Yes?”

Mairon languidly drew himself closer to Melkor, but not close enough to touch. “Would you be so nice to go and grab some extra fuel for the fire? I’m afraid this one’s roots are not substantial enough to last. We may be here a _long time.”_ The front of his robe fell open to reveal his chest.

Without a single word more, Melkor placed his glass on the mantle and left in search of more fuel.

Pinebrow flinched to be left alone with the Maia again, but his fear was unfounded. As soon as Melkor’s hurried footsteps faded, Mairon dashed to the mantle and grabbed Melkor’s glass. With a motion that somehow still remained elegant, he tossed his head back and downed the hot wine with a satisfied sigh. Not pausing for even a moment, he spun on his toes and grabbed the carafe, pouring its contents into his own glass while he hummed in delight and fell onto the plush couch in front of the hearth. With a few moments for himself, Mairon preened his hair and continued to down the wine like it was water in a desert. Pinebrow sighed sadly, but he was ignored as if he were merely decorative furniture.

When Melkor’s heavy footsteps could be heard again, Mairon jumped from his seat to the mantle in a decidedly less graceful fashion and dropped the carafe on the ledge. It wobbled in place a few times before settling down just as Melkor burst into the room. He now had his found fuel in a sooty apron and a rather confused smelter orc following him. Melkor gave the smelter a solid kick out of the room unceremoniously. He then carelessly dumped the majority of the coal into the hearth and a cloud of soot rose, causing both Pinebrow’s and Mairon’s eyes to water.

If Mairon had been in any other state he would have protested Melkor’s impulsive action, but instead he was silent and red-faced. He no longer had the power of keeping his face neutral and seemed to nearly be bursting with the secret of his thievery. Melkor was still oblivious and was now showing off by tossing spare coal pieces into the dirty stockings on Pinebrow‘s branches. 

When he was finished, Melkor adopted a rather suggestive posture as he leaned on the mantle. Mairon found his nerve. A devilish smile curled on his lips in anticipation.

When Melkor stopped making obscene faces at his favourite Maia, he picked up his glass with a sudden frown. He also found that the carafe was empty, save for the red stains on its sides. He owlishly turned his head to pout at Mairon while holding the overturned container. An all-too-satisfied Mairon only laughed and finished the rest of his glass in a single greedy gulp.

Melkor shook his head and tried to stop a wry smile from forming on his lips.

“You may have to atone for your own naughtiness, Mairon,” he said while flexing his muscles.

“Gladly,” said Mairon, not missing a beat, and flung his robe over the face of the whimpering Ent. Naked and glowing like a hot coal he wrapped himself around Melkor’s cold body, resulting in actual steam to rise from where they touched.

Fortunately or unfortunately Pinebrow was not witness to the impassioned kiss of the Ainur that sent sparks swirling in a dance around them. Although he wished with all his might to be able to the leave the room. The heat of the fire paled in comparison to the heat of Melkor and Mairon’s reunion. 

~~~~~~~~~ 

Long after the fire went out and all sanity had fled from the mind of Pinebrow, the Dark Lords of Arda stayed close together in front of the hearth, now joined by the three sleeping wolves, and murmuring sweet nothings in a language all their own.

They had formed a new tradition for themselves and were already excited to outdo the celebration next year. In the deepest dark of winter, they always found their greatest love.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays! <3 Sorry if you can never look at a Christmas tree in the same way again. Also sorry if their personalities are exaggerated for this story, but that was entirely my intent for this bizarre tale. 
> 
> If you are really curious and don’t mind my terrible language hacks, the wolves’ names are in Black Speech. Latagund, Mairon named for where she was born and bred. Hosh-Ghaash is either named for his favourite food or his temperament, we are not sure. Pushdug is actually part of a proud lineage and is known as Shakh-Pushdug son of Shakh-Bagronk. The rough translation from Black Speech are meant to be Understone, Hot Guts, and Lord Filth (son of Lord Cesspool).


End file.
